These are the directions of how to make pancakes with Bisquick’s “Shake N Pour”. Sounds pretty easy doesn’t it? Five minutes tops from first realizing you want some hot, buttery, griddled goodness to digging in...ending up satisfied and sticky in the strangest of places. My dad use to say he could eat pancakes with a 10-foot fork and still manage to get syrup on his elbow.

So you can imagine how cramped my crumpets got this morning when I learned about the newest convenience for a lazy America…..IHOP-N-GO! THAT’s RIGHT...select parts of the country can now order a short-stack delivered to their door in the same amount of time they could make a mountain of flap-jacks, pay bills, shave, shower and comb the hair on their emotional-support squirrel. Come-on IHOP!

If people don’t have the time (or energy) to flip a flapjack, then they probably should look into freeing up some time in their schedule instead of calling YOU for a Rooty Tooty Fresh & Fruity that’s gonna show up at their door with the texture of a sweet rubber chicken. Just the thought of that crepes me out! While you’re at it, make sure to bring me one of those sanitary syrup racks that’s a 4-bottle habitat for every germ known to man. Yeah...I’ll gladly pay $12 for spongy cakes with a side of ptomaine. Yum Yum! #STOPTHESLOPIHOPSOIWONTHAVE2MOP

Pumping gas is one of life’s mundane chores. It’s simple, it’s singularly focused and I enjoy the fact that I am alone in my thoughts when doing it. It’s kind of like peeing into a urinal. One doesn’t expect (or appreciate) being besieged by outside stimuli during such times of personal solitude.

So you can imagine how my octane spiked (after swiping my card at the local Exxon recently) and being ambushed by “Gas Station TV”. THAT’S RIGHT...unexpectedly smacked in the face and ears by capitalistic, opportunistic, corporate America blasting through a 5-inch screen and cheap, tiny speakers emitting frequencies that made the fillings in my teeth hurt.

WHAT THE SHELL???

I’m sorry, but I don’t need to discover that it’s dumplin day at Cracker Barrel whilst I’m huffing 89 ethanol. Neither do I need to see that My Pillow guy EVER again or get the local weather. I’m IN the weather for crying out loud - fueling up Bessie in order to get to work to support my overt happiness.

Is there no Safeway to Pilot a Kwik Trip to the Gulf without getting my BP up? Can’t one Kum & Go as we please without some ESSO pumping ads in our face at the Petro? It’s time to Circle K the wagons folks and put a stop to this before we’re running on empty. We must Mobil-ize now, LOVE each other and boycott GSTV. Otherwise, our society will continue getting hosed at the pump!

Curmudgeon Out!"Things are not as bad as they seem...they're worse" - Bill Press

I guess I should apologize for the lengthy void since my last post. The truth is that until recent months, I’ve pretty much spent my time between home and at work...basking in the warmth and protection of my own imaginary, utopian bubble. As a result, I have not been overly exposed to the primary subjects of my usual rants...PEOPLE.

Unfortunately for you, my hiatus is over because I’ve been traveling a bit recently...as well as forcing myself to get out more to try and become more human-like and “social”. This morning, I took daughter and one of her friends to breakfast at a really nice local eatery, just to spread a little sunshine and butter with others. Everything was going swimmingly until the server brought my grits...and in walked Mr. Pits. ARM-PITS that is!​I’m okay with someone being comfortable in their own skin, but there is something “in-hair-ently” wrong with armpit hair at breakfast. As a matter of fact, at ANY meal. And since this man’s wife, family and/or friends have neglected to inform him of this (for whatever reason), I feel it an obligation (just in case he stumbles upon my blog) to educate him with this tid-bit of arm-pit knowledge, taste and common courtesy:

It doesn’t matter how buff you think you are, no one wants to see your mounds of muff protruding from ‘neath your inflated biceps and self-image at the dinner table. One finds it hard to concentrate on how delicious and airy a Belgium waffle tastes whilst 2 wooly furballs are staring them down from your under-arm region(s). Instead, I prefer you head on over to Pigeon Forge and hover around the Shoney’s breakfast bar where muscle shirts and tank-tops abound... and the occasional, errant hair in the metal dishpan of swine-slopping bacon causes no great alarm. You (nor your pits) will stick out as badly and there will be 0% chance of me ever seeing your pits... while eating my grits - again.

Every once in a while, something surprises and makes an old, crusty curmudgeon chuckle…and grateful.

For the past week, I have been anxiously "waiting for the man with the bag" - trash bag that is! You see, I forgot to put the waste containers out after Thanksgiving, and my turkey carcass and tossed-out trimmings had ripened into a reaking, odorous, not-so-holiday fare over the last 7 days!

However, my early Christmas wish was fulfilled this morning (as evident by the photo).

Please share this story of good news throughout your social media sites, that (although obviously struggling with a sagging, northern economy), Yes Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus!!!… Here's your tweet:

"Santa Takes A Dump - Makes Me Man From Glad!"

#SanitationSanta#TrashTalkinSanta#KrisKringleKansATurkey#SmellySanta

#Curmudgeon Out! "Things are not as bad as they seem - they are worse!" - Bill Press

In case you missed the most recent shot heard round-the-world series, Jose' Canseco (former roided-up, dumber than a bag of rosin, home-run slugger of the Oakland Athletics), blew his middle finger off while cleaning a loaded gun several days ago. Seizing an opportunity for some sensationalized, much-needed publicity, he took to Twitter (obviously by the use of his thumbs), to share all the gory details...including posting gross and graphic pictures. Jose' also managed to schedule an interview during with Inside Edition whereby he breaks down crying for the cameras... pretending that he only cared about the safety of his fiance’....RIGHT! Then just yesterday, he tweets again that his re-attached finger fell off during a poker tournament! And the news channels pick this stuff up and post it everywhere.

What in the name of Hammerin Hank is going on here folks?

Why is this news-worthy? Who really cares that Jose' Canseco tossed his mangled, rotten finger in the pot while anteing up at a Poker Tournament just days after he blows it off ? Beyond that, why would Jose' think that anyone would care? What is someone's reasoning and justification in exploiting such a serious, graphic and personal event, other than shameless self-promotion and shock value? And I call "foul" that his only feeling afterward was thankfulness that his fiance' wasn't hurt. Had he winged her during the incident, he would have tweeted her out like a pimp - just to garner attention and publicity for himself.

So batter-up Bash Brother! Here's some unsolicited advice and finger-food for thought for "Jose' can you see" Canseco!

Strike One: Hey Jose', there's no crying in baseball! This includes after you're retired and when no one cares about ANYTHING you're doing or have to say.

﻿Strike Two﻿: Just as you shouldn't have played with a loaded, roided-up bat throughout your MLB career, you (of all people), shouldn't play with loaded guns you testosterone-laden, ego-inflated doofus! Please refrain from any more desperate attempts for publicity by not posting more pictures or tweets about your blown-off finger...or personal life in general for that matter.

Strike Three: How about just living out the rest of your life quietly by finding a purpose like helping others avoid making the same stupid, thick-headed choices that you did.

Game Over....Curmudgeon Out!

P.S. If you want to see how weird this guy really is, CLICK HERE and read down his twitter feed. Make sure to scroll down to around the 15th post...where he tweets and I quote: “If Earth can control the comet transport system, we will run the Milkyway! Think about that “

Today is our country’s mid-term election day. I don’t know about you, but the candidates where I live are slim pick-ins. The primary ones make me want to puke when they regurgitate their over-rehearsed, verbal vomit - and the other candidates are mostly nondescript, barely able to make enough noise to even familiarize voters with their names...much less their stance on the issues. But this is AMERICA...land of the free, home of the brave and the Republic for which I stand. Therefore, I consider it my rightful privilege and duty to educate myself on the candidates best I can, (and their platforms), and to vote my conscience and for my beliefs. I encourage you all to do the same!

Considering the lackluster candidates on these mid-term ballots - along with the ones already campaigning for the upcoming 2016 Presidential Election, I’ve decided to throw my political hat in the ring and run for President myself! So look out Harry Reid & John Boehner...there’s soon gonna be a Curmudgeon in the White House that will not hesitate to slap the snotty cynicism out of one of you - and the fake QT orange tan off the other. I believe this act alone will unite the two parties!

Besides that first order of business; however, I would immediately sharpen my Presidential pen and invoke the following Executive Orders to make this a better country:

Starbucks can no longer serve food or have a drive-thru.

The Travel Security Association (TSA) will be shut down immediately and there shall be no more security checks or "getting felt-up" at airports. Instead, the airline boarding agent will arm every adult as they enter the plane with a Smith & Wesson 45-caliber...loaded with 1 bullet each. Passengers will turn them in at the end of the flight as they de-board the plane.

Mexican restaurants will maintain at least a 1-mile radius of each other.

There will be no more feminine hygiene or male ED commercials allowed on the airwaves.

Retail & grocery stores will return to the day and tradition of being closed on Sundays.

If you drive longer than 1 mile past orange barrels that are blocking a lane, and you have not seen 1 human being working...you are hereby permitted and pardoned to run over the remaining barrels up to the point of seeing actual work being done.

Comcast / Xfinity will be shut down and their corporate headquarters imploded. This includes customer service call centers in Fiji.

Mattress stores will maintain at least a 1-mile radius of each other.

The above 3 men are hereby bound from ever appearing on television again:

"Dr." Panchorek (Alteril)

"Chef" Tony

Dude with the eyebrows that sells Shark vacuum cleaners.

All Americans will be limited to 3 hours of internet access per day.

The word “like” will be stricken from the English vocabulary.

Smart phones will immediately self-destruct if you attempt to text more than 148 characters in one message.

​My name is Curmudgeon...and I approve this message!

Curmudgeon Out!“Things are not as bad as they seem...they’re worse!” - Bill Press

﻿Did you see the story about the couple that just got married during a Southwest Flight?

THAT’s RIGHT, Dottie Coven and Keith Stewart decided to be “united” in-flight (at 32,000 feet over Arkansas) on Southwest’s inaugural non-stop service between Nashville and Dallas’ “Love Field”. How appropriate. The nuptials took place in front of 40 family members and friends, along with 100 total strangers and unsuspecting captives on the flight.

Awh....somebody pass me the peanuts so I can puke in my barf-bag!!!

These kinds of publicity stunts and exploitation of private events make me sick. This couple scares me worse than some of the very SW passengers who witnessed the ceremony. And have you seen some of the SW passengers lately? I don’t know about you, but that’s EXACTLY the crowd I’d want to endorse my holy matrimony. What’s next I wonder? Honeymoon on a Greyhound to Galveston?

Oh well...Love is in the Air I guess, so all my best to the newlyweds - along with wishes for non-stop love.

When do we land?

Curmudgeon Out!﻿ "Things are not as bad as they seem...they're worse!" - Bill Press

Sometimes, you run across a story that’s just too uplifting not to share it. Especially considering the mounds and mounds of serious problems in the world like ISIS and Ebola. Therefore, I wanted to push this one up to the top and share it with you. It spills over with tips from an expert who really knows how to get things off her chest. Cross-my-heart you’ll find it informative if not somewhat rhetorical. So strap yourself in and get ready to be perked up by the lady whom Oprah deemed;

The Bra Whisperer! THAT’s RIGHT...this lady evidently is the premier expert on bras. In this USA Today article entitled; “Bra Fitting Entrepreneur Has Tips For The Ladies”, Susan Nethero solves the mystery of titties by answering the difficult questions like:

How Often Should You Wear A Bra?

How Long Should A Bra Last?

What’s The Best Way to Care For a Bra?

How Many Bras Should Each Woman Have?

A Woman’s Bra Size Will Change During Her Lifetime. When Do Most Women Need To Be Properly Fitted?

WOW...thanks Susan for unearthing such knowledge! Now I’ll have more understanding and patience when “wife” slings her dainties across the shower rod.

Personally, I think songwriter Wynn Varble offers up more insight in his song “Bird Dog Bra”, where he explains in the chorus;

It was a Bird-Dog Bra - should have known it when I met herA Bird-Dog Bra - had to pull herself togetherWhat’s A Bird-Dog Bra? - you see it’s really kind of clever….A Bird-Dog Bra makes pointers out of setters.

﻿If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time, you know that I love my coffee. Two cups in the morning, in the dark, in peaceful solitude.

A Guilty Pleasure of mine, (that “wife” may not even know about), is popping into the neighborhood Starbucks for a final cup for my drive into work. While I don’t stop by every morning, it’s probably three times a week that I indulge myself with one more bold "cup-a-joe" for my morning commute with the crazies on the interstate.

Now I like Starbucks’ coffee, and I like the young people that staff this particular establishment. However, after yesterday, they’re going to have to scratch me off of their customer list.

You see, for the past 3-4 weeks, there has been a squatter that has apparently set up permanent residence in the corner by the beverage station and staked his claim on the two leather chairs and table. I can’t see him when I first walk in, but after I pick up my order and step around the corner to sweeten my grande Komodo Dragon...BAM, I’m slapped in the face by Crotchet Man!

For weeks now, Crotchet Man has been there everyday in that same corner, right leg draped over the arm of that poor, molested chair...left leg gapped open the other way...leaned back as if he’s ready to fire an arrow out of his butt to fend off any intruders to the territory which he has seized by his unabashed crotchdom. Add to it that he wears shorts everyday and it’s just flat out disturbing.

He’s obviously more social than I am though because he has people there with him every morning who seem engaged in either the conversation or crotch-watching. Personally, I don’t see how anyone could sit there with any seriousness while this man appears ready to pass a basketball...or worse!

Maybe he’s chafed and needs some Goldbond. Or maybe he’s just an inconsiderate, oblivious, narcissistic individual that thinks his crotch don’t stink. Whatever the reason, the unfortunate ending to this story is that my guilty pleasure has been snuffed out by a crotch.

So drivers beware! Take note that you’ll be rolling alongside a man that’s one step short of crazy himself! And now, (thanks to Crotchet Man), I’ll also be one cup short of the patience and courtesy I normally extend to you idiots on the road.

How do I like my coffee?...you may ask. I prefer mine Crotchless...with a little cream & sugar.

Curmudgeon Out!﻿"Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press

Even though retailers are already prepping and praying for a bumper-crop of Christmas shoppers, the fact remains that we still have two (what used to be) major holidays to celebrate before the arrival of December.

With Halloween just around the corner, I thought I would provide you with some ideas in case you're thinking about dressing up scary this year. Click through the slideshow and prepare to be both scared & inspired. Captions are complimentary by yours truly.

It is with sadness that, (effective immediately), I must tender my resignation from being President of the Curmudgeonhood Of America (C.O.A.). I arrived at this conclusion due to an experience that happened over the weekend which convicted me to downgrade my rating to a “C-2” status and surrender my self-appointed title.

You see, this past Saturday (along with 2 of my best friends), we had the privilege to be in the presence of greatness. His name was Gary - a complete stranger (assigned to join the 3 of us by the club), but more importantly, a Master Curmudgeon….a true “C-1”.

I was humbled by the crabby, crustiness of his demeanor, his complete obliviousness to our repeated attempts to engage him into conversation, his supernatural gift of projecting a black-hole vortex capable of sucking-in the beauty, peace and joy that stems from being on the golf course with good friends.

Gary's body language oozed impatience and sourpuss. He didn’t smile, nor did he talk...(except to shout a profanity-laced tirade at the unsuspecting foursome ahead of us,because he felt they took too long to finish putting on the 5th green). Gary's ability to maintain such a constipated, crosspatch disposition on such a beautiful Autumn Saturday was so impressive that it's convicted me to temporarily surrender my title of “President”.

Unfortunately, it was a pretty chilly morning and Gary forgot to bring a jacket. Between holes he wrapped up in a dirty beach towel (same one he was cleaning his irons off with in-between shots), to try and block the wind. I guess even a C-1 curmudgeon can underestimate their own thickened and cynical outer-layer’s ability to negate a stiff northern breeze.

So at the start of the 6th hole, Gary did something that surprised us all...he spoke; “It’s too damn cold for me to finish...I’m going home”...and just like that, he was gone. Those few words were magical; however, because as he was carting away (beach towel draped around his shoulders flapping like a super-curmudgeon’s cape), the sun shined brighter, the wind died down, and the birds and squirrels starting chirping again and gathering nuts for the winter.

I didn’t get your last name Gary, (only because you wouldn’t tell me), but thank-you! You’ve shown me that I have a long way to go to get to your C-1 level of Curmudgeonry. I bow to the master and yield my title to you.

C-2 Out!"Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press

Another restless night of interrupted sleep patterns and random thoughts that wiz past my brain at warp speed . Big Sis (a retired nurse), says there is a medical term for this condition called "Flight of Ideas". It's quite entertaining really. One moment I'm thinking about a family member or an issue at work and then…BAM, I'm seeing baboons eating Blue Bell out of a PF Flyer shoebox. Go figure.

Well, last night I was able to stop the flight and focus for a few minutes due to another commercial with one of those ridiculous medicine names. This one is called Farxiga…a new drug for the treatment of Type 2 diabetes. Great, (I thought), America probably needs this. But it also made me ponder;

Who in the name of Marcus Welby is in charge of naming these drugs? Farxiga? It sounds more like a treatment for leaky individuals. "Since I've been taking Farxiga, I no longer get those accusatory looks in the elevator. My life literally used to stink, but not anymore thanks to Farxiga! It's changed my life…along with my co-workers".

Anyway, it prompted me to jot down a few of my own new drug ideas to pitch to Merck and Phizer to develop;

Focussin: While you may think this is for the A.D.D. patient, it's not. Focussin is for the redneck that can't control their potty-mouth in public. Take two of these and shut up!

Noazzatall: Growth hormone for those who always wanted a booty like J.Lo

Lawdhepmeleevym: For the wife who just can't take it anymore.

Rotsaruck: Asian drug that doctors prescribe when they don't have a clue what you've contracted.

Scratcharoni: Medicated salve for the promiscuous in San Francisco

Vocatoonin: Now everyone can sing. Take two of these and get a record deal.

Jubilia: Stimulates happiness in curmudgeons. (sign me up!)

Sicarunin: For the treatment of diarrhea OR...a stimulant that induces one to exercise.

Scruital: When you've finally given up.

Dr. Curmudgeon, MD - Out!﻿"Things are not as bad as they seem...they are worse!" - Bill Press

Well here’s something that just made my Frosted Flakes soggy! The CW Network (CBS/WarnerBros) just dropped the proverbial anvil on Wylie Coyote by pulling the plug on running Saturday morning cartoons! The CW was the last man standing, but finally had to succumb to the fact that things just “ain’t like they used to be”.

I remember vividly how I looked forward to Saturday mornings as a young child. Pajamas, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs (Jethro-sized), getting into fights with my sister over whether we were going to watch Underdog (my personal favorite), or the Jetsons...which came on at the same time on different channels...of which there were two. We would sit there for a few hours, lost in a blissful world of animated adventure. But come mid-day, Mama & Daddy would kick us out of the house to go play in the yard.

Looking back, that was really the only TV we watched all week. Saturday mornings were anticipated and had a “feel” about them that made them special. Those days are gone forever. Children today, and we as adults, are an on-demand society. We have the technology and ability to get what we want, when we want it.

Sadly, that on-demand wherewithal and access has a detrimental effect. It normalizes the simple, precious things in life to the point that they’re not “special” anymore. It’s a numbing and dumbing “effect” - that results in requiring something bigger and better to “affect” us. Don’t believe it? Compare the movie theaters & productions, a concert, professional sporting events of today versus 20 years ago. Obviously, it takes more and more to impress us these days, excite us...create anticipation.